Recollections
by Cymoril Avalon
Summary: Trapped together in one soul room, Dark Bakura finds his actions controlled by someone other than him, and his lighter half surprisingly enough saves the day. But is all as it seems? AU. BakuraXYami no Bakura.


Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-gi-oh. I repeat: I do not own Yu-gi-oh. But I do own this bottle of Coke!

Author's Note: This is a Bakura/Yami no Bakura challenge pairing from Paladius. It did not come out the way I expected, but…eh. It's partially a commentary on the many horrendously OOC fan fiction cliché's that are floating around this wonderful site, and partially exploring exactly how insane Bakura really is. Enjoy!

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The slap reverberated off of the walls of the soul room. 

Yami no Bakura stared, irritated not only at his other half's dreamy expression but also at the fact that his arms had apparently acted of their own accord. He hadn't meant to hit the boy – he pretty much meant to ignore his presence while he worked on the latest phase of his plan – and fought the overwhelming urge to strike again with all of his strength. The muscles in his arms corded with the effort, and a thin trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face, which only increased his annoyance.

It was of no use. Driven by some outside force, his hands struck the boy again and again and again, and he felt his irritation rising. The boy was barely reacting, his expression never changing as he took the blows one by one, his eyes distant. The flurry of blows pushed the boy back against the wall, and bruises began to form over his pale skin. He didn't know which irritated him more: the fact that his body wasn't his own to control, or the fact that the boy was still in such abject denial of the existence of his darker half. Normally he was more than happy to torture the boy, strike him and cut him and hurt him and try to make him accept the existence of the Ring spirit. It passed the time when he grew bored and restless, provided some brief entertainment in the long hours of the night, and there was no music as beautiful to his ears as the sound of screaming. The beautiful, rich red staining such pale skin, the shrieks that exploded from a raw throat when the boy forgot himself enough to realize what was really happening only to subside back into silence and begin the cycle anew…

However, he didn't appreciate it half as much when his body was beyond his control.

After putting forth a wild burst of effort, the spirit managed to stop striking the boy, eyeing him with distaste. So weak, so worthless, he wished for the thousandth time that he could just do away with the boy's consciousness and have the body for himself. Instead, he wasted his time shielding the boy's mind from the horrors he committed, keeping him mildly intact and sane enough for…

What did he keep him around for again? His thoughts seemed strangely scattered, each fluttering away almost as soon as he grasped it.

He idly reached out a slender finger to trace the bruises on the boy's cheek. His skin was so smooth, so pale, like polished alabaster…he felt himself growing closer, closer, lips nearly touching the skin before he forcefully jerked himself backwards with a muffled curse.

What the…?

He stared down at the boy, dark eyes narrowed. Why were his thoughts suddenly overflowing with bad poetry about the boy's ethereal beauty? Why was he mentally composing ballads about the depths of his eyes, the silkiness of his hair, the plumpness of his lips? Where did this urge to take him in his arms and kiss him and make sweet, gentle love to him come from?

The spirit shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Poetry? _Tender consideration_? Such unhealthy notions, and he could barely dispel them. He forced his gaze away from the oblivious boy – still standing against the wall, eyes focused on something only he could see, a strange half-smile on his face – and that is when he became aware of a faint scratching over in the corner.

His mouth quirked as he followed the boy's gaze; he seemed far too aware of what was going on to continue to ignore his darker half. A girl was sitting in the corner of his soul room – a girl! in his soul room! – writing furiously on what seemed to be brittle parchment, her antiquated quill pen wobbling with her effort. She glanced up and noticed his gaze, and her cheeks went noticeably pale. She quickly continued writing, and he found his mind cluttered with romantic thoughts once more, about horseback riding in the moonlight; of picking flowers and arranging them into a crown of sorts, the pale blue petals glowing; of sweeping his weaker half into his arms and carrying him to the sandy shore, the waves lapping at his feet; of caressing his face and whispering words of love and devotion as he slowly removed the pale boy's clothing…

The spirit growled, his feral gaze never leaving the girl. She was pretty, in her own way, with dark hair falling to her shoulders in soft waves and big, dark eyes; she would have easily blended into a crowd with no defining features to stick out. She appeared normal in almost every sense of the word save for the unusual prettiness of her eyes, though odds were it was the fear and nervousness that attracted him so. She licked her lips and began writing again, the soft scratching sound amplified as she nearly pierced through the paper in her haste.

He half-turned back towards his other half, desiring to rush over and cuddle him close and treat him as he really deserved, regretting wholeheartedly all those times he abused the poor boy's mind and body, coming oh so close to breaking him numerous times. He would forget about his hatred for ou-sama, would forget about his quest to attain all seven Sennen Items, would forgo thousands of years of careful planning, all for the love of one fragile, white-haired boy. His weakness wasn't so deploring; it was cute, and the craving to protect and nurture rose up in him like a tidal wave.

_No!_ he screamed in his mind, trying desperately to wrest control away from the strange witch. _That is not Me!_

The girl gave a startled cry as the quill in her hand abruptly exploded, cradling her injured hand to her chest and staring down at the parchment. Tiny flames licked at the brittle paper, curling and devouring, though oddly enough it did not touch her clothing or her skin. She watched in despair as her works slowly vanished, nothing left but a few bits of ash resting on her skirt. Slowly, fearfully, her eyes rose to meet his once more.

He threw back his head and laughed, the Ring glowing a sickly blue. Before she had a chance to move he lashed out with his power, tying thread-thin pieces of shadow around her, holding her still. Her eyes widened as her head tossed from side to side, struggling to free herself. His laughter subsided as he watched her, wondering what to do with her. He advanced on her slowly, tapping a slender finger against his chin as he regarded her coldly.

"I don't know what you did to Me," he drawled, gently stroking her cheek, "or how, but you will regret it." His fingers dug into her skin cruelly, nails piercing, a thin trickle of blood escaping and staining his skin and hers. "Oh, I am going to have fun with you."

He slid a blade out of his pocket and barked a laugh at the helpless little shriek that tore from her throat. "You should never have played with Me," he purred, his tongue darting out to lap at the blood on her cheek. "You have no idea what game you just stepped into. To think, you thought you could go up against Me. Foolish girl."

Her eyes slid past him and he frowned. What was she looking at? Making an irritated sound he turned, blinking in surprise when he saw his other half stirring. The pale boy was holding something in his hand, angled so it was partially hidden by his body. His dark eyes were still distant, but he was focused on something now; focused on the spirit. Slowly he made his way over to the dark entity and his prisoner, a small smile still gracing his features.

Quickly, before the spirit could even react, the boy snatched the blade from his hands and plunged it into the girl's chest. She threw back her head and screamed, body twisting in its unnatural bonds, writhing and squirming and quivering in pain. Yami no Bakura smirked and stepped away, watching with some interest as the boy continued to stab the girl, blood gushing out to splatter on his clothes and hair and skin, the red such a violent contrast to the boy's natural paleness. His expression never changed, his eyes never altered, as the girl eventually grew limp in her bonds, the light leaving her eyes.

"I never knew you were capable of something like that, yadonushi-sama," the spirit murmured, looking quite amused. A flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes as the boy ignored him, staring at the butchered girl as if at a peculiar new species, appearing almost interested. The boy reached out and ran his fingers through the girl's bloodied hair almost as if he did not understand what he was seeing.

Angered, Yami no Bakura reached out and grabbed the boy's shoulder and forcefully spun him around. "Answer Me," he hissed furiously, fingers digging into the boy's shoulder nearly hard enough to snap the fragile bone. "You can't be unaware of Me!"

To his surprise, the boy slowly reached towards him, offering him a delicate flower stained with the witch's blood. Vacant dark eyes met those tinged with insanity, the latter pair widening, outwardly expressing more shock than he ever had. Silently, he took the flower from the boy, staring at its soft petals curiously.

"You see Me?"

The spirit was surprised once more as the boy flung his arms around him and pressed his lips tightly to his, his arms holding him tightly. The boy pressed himself tightly against his darker half, their bodies melding together almost perfectly, hands slipping beneath the spirit's shirt to quest around his skin.

Yami no Bakura quickly took control, plunging his tongue into the boy's mouth and pressing his fingers into his arms painfully. He snatched his blade back from the boy and laughed softly against his lips as it sliced through his lighter half's shirt, the pieces falling to the side. He ran his fingers along his other's skin, heedless of the corpse perhaps only a foot away from the pair.

"Well, well, well, yadonushi-sama," he murmured, pulling away to nip at the boy's neck, positioning his blade, shivering in anticipation of the cutting, of the blood, of the screams and helpless cries. "You finally see Me; you finally realize that I am really here. It's nice to see you finally wake up." He lifted his head and gazed at his other, reveling in the way the boy's eyes were darkened with passion.

That is, until he opened his mouth.

"Amane," he murmured, stroking the flower he had given the spirit. The boy leaned up and pressed another kiss to the shocked spirit's lips. "You've come back to me, Amane…"


End file.
